Don't Let Go
by reireihakurei
Summary: It was a phrase that entered their relationship countless times. Written to help me get over some recent events. Oneshot, tw for drug abuse


Don't let go.

It was a phrase that entered their relationship countless times.

It was whispered during their first day of kindergarten, when Rin was too afraid to let go of Len's hand in the new classroom. He didn't, of course; his duty as an older brother didn't let him. Through the introductions, arts and crafts, lunch break, all of it—he followed her quiet request. The next day, Rin walked boldly into the classroom, ready to tackle the task of kindergarten without the support of her brother.

It was said with a touch of giddiness during their first flight. Despite how nervous she was, Rin watched the window in amazement through the entire flight, but her hand never left Len's. When he dozed off on her shoulder, she didn't complain too much about him drooling on her. The clouds and sky had put her in too good of a mood to mind it. It was Len who said it on the following flight home, as he realized he really was afraid of flying.

It was shrieked on their first rollercoaster, quickly becoming lost to the wind as the ride twisted and turned. Len thought he would never regain feeling in his hand from how tightly Rin had squeezed it. When they got off, slightly wobbly and laughing, she held their joined hands up in the victory pose. Sparkling eyes, wild hair, and flushed face, she dragged him to the reentry line. By the end of the day, they had ridden every coaster in the park, and through all of them, neither of them let go of the other.

Don't let go.  
I would never.

It was an unspoken plea when Rin had her heart broken for the first time. Len hugged her tightly and her tears made their home on his shirt. Len offered poor jokes and soothing words, even if they fell flat. Boys are stupid, she decided, and she was perfectly content with only loving her brother. It was an amusing sight when she ended up head-over-heels for a girl, and how flustered and embarrassed she would get whenever someone brought it up. He assured her that it was nothing weird, regardless of what others might say. However, she never had the courage to tell the rest of their family.

It was clouded with pain when Len had his appendix removed. His knuckles turned almost as white as the hospital sheets when he grabbed Rin's hand. She could almost feel the throbbing in his abdomen for herself—"a twin thing," as their parents called it. Neither of them bothered to say that they had to let go once he was taken to the operating room. When the anesthesia wore off and he woke up, she was sitting right next to the bed, holding his hand. He was thankful for the illusion that she really hadn't let go, even if he knew it wasn't true.

It was full of nervous excitement when they graduated high school. Sitting side-by-side on the football field, they could barely stay still. It was a given that they would have to let go momentarily when their names were called, but that was irrelevant for the time being. They had finally reached the punchline of the joke, and it was all they could do to wait for their turn to be recognized. At the end of the ceremony, it was Len who held their joined hands in the victory pose.

Don't let go.  
Why would I?

It was half-hearted when Rin found the bottle of pills the first time. She stared at Len in confusion, and he pulled her into a hug. He was trembling when the phrase passed his lips, although she never could figure out if it was out of fear or something else. As if opening a window, she started to see the warning signs. It was her turn to say it, for a new reason: she was his support, he just needed to hold on to her. It was the first time the word had crossed her mind—addiction.

It was choked out through tears when Len was found lying in his room. Rin dropped to her knees beside him, and he slowly reached for her hand. She clung to it like a lifeline, even though she wasn't the one close to death. This could've been prevented. This could've been prevented. The plea fell from her mouth with the first round of tears, and he gave a faint smile and shook his head.

Don't let go.  
I'm sorry.


End file.
